Dying Magic
by jonnilyne
Summary: A man, angry and cursed - to him, love is a lost illusion. A girl, lonely and stuck - to her, love is a waste of time. A magic mirror brings them together, breaking the barriers of time, space, and reason. In a new world without magic, can such a curse even be broken?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** *apologizes now for lengthy AN* Hey guys! :D I feel extremely bad for the semi-hiatus I've been on. This is my second submission to FF, and I hope that it is as successful as my other story has been so far! To any readers of _Love Changes Things_: thank you for your patience! Juggling two stories has been FAR more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I would spend a lot of time thinking about both of them; when I would go to write on one, the other would cloud my vision! Fear not, though; a new chapter of _LCT _will be up any day now. In the meantime, I hope that everyone, old and new readers alike, enjoy this first chapter of my new story.  
All of my hearts and thanks go out to my amazing, gorgeous Betas.  
Reviews are welcome and thoroughly appreciated; if you have an issue, please bring it to my attention!  
As a disclaimer, I do not own BatB.  
Happy reading! (:

-jonnilyne

* * *

Belle leaned forward on the counter with a soft sigh as she watched the man browse through the shelves of books. It was five minutes till ten, and she wished desperately that this man would hurry up. She had already swept the floors and put up the entire shipment of new books; as soon as this guy was done doing whatever he was going to do, she could lock up and leave for the night.

She absentmindedly straightened the edge of her forest green shirt, emblazoned with "HUDSON BOOKS" in white print. Mr. Hudson, the middle-aged, no-nonsense owner of the bookstore couldn't be bothered with coming up with a clever or catchy name for his shop – his name would have to do.

"Hi," came a deep voice; Belle's eyes snapped up, a smile mechanically appearing on her face. The man had apparently finished his search; he was brandishing a worn copy of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ and a cocky smile.

"Do you like that book?"she asked as she scanned the barcode. The guy scoffed.

"I started reading it online and could hardly get through the first page. I have to have it, though, for a class."

"That's a shame," she said, punching buttons on the old computer. "I love it. Your total is $7.52; would you like a bag?"

"Well, when I said I couldn't get through it, I meant because I was so tired," he amended with a cool smile. "If you like it, I'm sure it will be great."

"Hmm," Belle muttered, sliding the book into a bag as he slid his credit card onto the counter.

"You're about to close, right?" he asked as she slid his card. "Does that mean you're about to leave?"

"I still have to clean up and put up books," she lied smoothly, trying to send him as many 'not-interested' vibes as she could. She tucked his receipt into the bag and handed it to him along with his card, but he still stood there, smiling at her.

"Can I help you with anything else?" Belle asked pleasantly.

"You'd be helping me very much if you gave me your number," he said with a broad grin.

Belle had to applaud his tenacity. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, with bright green eyes and messy black hair, but she could tell he wasn't someone she wanted to be involved with.

"Sure," she said, plastering on a smile. He pulled out his phone and she rattled off a number.

"See you around," he said with a wink as he sauntered out the door. Belle rolled her eyes at his back and waited until he had driven away to run towards the light switch. With a flip, the lights were out. She grabbed her bag from behind the counter and pulled out a set of keys. Giving the shop a last glance, she headed towards the front door.

In a moment, the front door was locked and Belle was unlocking her blue Focus. She slid inside and started the car, ready to relax in her apartment.

As she drove, she thought about what she needed to get done in the next few days; she knew she was almost out of groceries, so a trip would be necessary soon. Bethany was coming over in two days, on Thursday, to watch movies, so Belle would have to clean up her apartment. At least she had the next two days off of work; she could finish everything and still have time to relax with a good book.

Belle jumped slightly when her phone rang. She dug around with her free hand and finally found the buzzing phone.

"Hello?"

"Did you give out my phone number again?" Belle's friend Bethany wasted no time getting to the point.

"I may have," Belle replied off-handedly.

"Oh, you _may_ have," Bethany said with a scoff. "I just got a text that said, 'Hey hot stuff, miss me yet?'"

"He was hanging about around closing time. I had to get rid of him somehow. If it helps, he was attractive."

"If he was attractive, why don't you talk to him?" Bethany asked exasperatedly.

"He seemed arrogant and dull," Belle replied as she made a left turn.

"Cocky, attractive, and not too bright? That's just how I like 'em!"

"Which is why I gave him your number," Belle teased.

"Right. Are you on your way home?"

"Yeah; I'm going to grab some food and then I'll be there."

"You'll be home so late," Bethany said with concern. "Are you sure you don't want me to come over so you won't be home alone? Or I could send Lou over there, if you'd like."

"I'm fine," Belle said flippantly. "Besides, I highly doubt Lou would come to my apartment at this time of night."

"Lou does whatever I ask him to," Bethany said; Belle could perfectly visualize the coy grin she was sure was on her friend's face. "I don't like you living alone," Bethany finished, her tone turning serious.

"_You_ live alone," Belle pointed out.

"I may quote, live, alone, but I'm hardly alone at night."

"Point taken. Look, Beth, I'm almost to McDonald's. I'll grab some food and text you when I'm in. Alright?"

"Alright," Bethany said, defeated. "Later."

"Bye."

Belle glanced out of her side window at the trees rushing past her. Oddly enough, she hadn't seen a single car since she left Hudson's. She had taken a back road to get food, though, and it wasn't too strange to be alone on it. She wasn't normally one to be frightened by the dark, but as she drove down the dark road, surrounded by trees, her spine began to tingle; she felt as if someone was watching her. Her hand tightened nervously around the steering wheel.

Outside her windshield, the world seemed to still around her car. Though her speedometer still registered forty-five miles per hour, the trees surrounding her weren't moving. Her heart skipped a beat in terror; what was going on?

Surely she was hallucinating; after a few seconds, everything returned to normal. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and turned her attention back to the road in front of her.

Immediately, she screamed and slammed on her breaks.

The road had been empty the second before she looked out her window at the immobile trees, but now there was a figure standing in the road with its arm over its eyes.

Her car lurched to a stop as she slammed forward and hit her mouth hard on the steering wheel. Belle felt a small bump at the front of her car and she froze in horror.

"Oh, my God!" she squealed over and over, trying to overcome her shock.

"It was a small bump," she said to herself, fumbling with her seatbelt. "My airbag didn't even deploy. I have to have barely hit them. They're okay; they have to be." She finally managed to unhook herself and wrench her door open. Trembling, she exited her car, nearly falling on her face.

Lying on the ground a few feet in front of her car was a person – a man from the looks of it – who was moaning and clutching his head in pain.

"Sir!" Belle shouted, rushing towards him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Oh God, oh God, oh God …. " She knelt on the pavement next to him, and stopped in shock.

"You hit me," she heard him mutter with a groan.

The first thing she noticed was his strange clothing. He had on fine black pants, but none that she had ever seen before. They cut off at the knee, where high white socks led down to black buckles shoes. Above, he wore a green shirt and jacket. His clothing looked as if it had come out of the pages of a history book. He could have been a wealthy man from centuries ago, but Belle did notice that his clothing, while fine, was in a state of disrepair. Buttons from his jacket were missing, loose threads hanging out. There were stains on his shirt and rips in his pants. What on earth …?

Her attention was almost immediately torn away from his clothing, however, as his skin caught her eye. The man's skin that was visible was completely disfigured. His shirt was open at the top, revealing a pale chest that was riddled with pink, ridged scars. Most of his neck and face seemed to be slightly pink, dry, and wrinkled in areas, as if he had been horribly burned. The parts of his face that weren't burned were covered in more scars like the ones on his chest. From what Belle could see, none of the man's bald head or face was left unaffected.

For one second, an irrational thought fluttered into her head; was she responsible for these damages? She pushed that thought away instantly; she had barely hit him with her car. These were old injuries. What on earth had happened to him? She tried not to stare at the wounds.

At that moment, the man's eyes popped open. Time seemed to stand still around Belle as his inhumanly blue eyes shocked her to the core. His eyes were so vivid and electrifying that Belle felt, in that moment, as if nothing in the world had been real until she had seen his eyes. His eyes narrowed and then widened in confusion; he tried to sit up and then fell back again. Belle instantly reached towards him and helped him into a sitting position.

"Are you okay, sir?" she asked, barely breathing.

"You," he breathed in a clear, deep voice; Belle shivered.

"I know, I hit you with my car. I'm so sorry, but I didn't see you at all! Where did you come from? It seemed to me like you just appeared out of nowhere; of course, that's just silly, but it's what I saw! Why are you dressed like –"

"Woman, stop rambling!" he exclaimed; Belle blinked in surprise as her jaw dropped. "I – I need – think."

"Oh, yes, sorry," she said, biting her lip. "Are you all right?"

"My - my head aches terribly. Also, what was that word you used a moment ago? 'C-car?'"

"Yes," Belle said, glancing at her Focus. "I hit you with my car." The man stared blankly at her for a moment.

"What is a car?" he asked; Belle let out a nervous laugh.

"Don't joke," she said with a dry laugh, afraid that he wasn't joking. What if she had given this man amnesia?

"I do not jest," he snapped, his eyes blazing. "I do not know what it is. I am also puzzled by your clothing and your hair," he added.

"My hair?" Belle asked, self-consciously touching the ends of her black jaw-length bob.

"You have a boy's hair," he commented.

"I – what?" Belle demanded, now sure that she had addled this man's brains. "You know what, never mind that. I just hit you with my car. Stand up with me, and let's get out of the road." She tried to put his arm around her shoulder and help him up, but the man pushed her away briskly and shakily stood up on his own. Belle watched cautiously, her arms hovering around him in case he fell down.

"I'm fine," he said, brushing himself off. Belle moved around him slowly, trying to examine him.

"You're bleeding!" she shouted, staring at the base of his skull. It looked like he had scraped himself on the pavement. There wasn't much blood, but Belle was beginning to feel sick – she had injured this man! He gingerly reached back and then examined his hand.

"It's hardly a scratch," he scoffed. "I am fine, madame."

"I think you should go to a hospital," Belle said with concern. "You need to see a doctor."

"See a physician for a light bump on the head?" he asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous." Belle hesitated, weighing her options. She couldn't force this man to go to the hospital; at the same time, he seemed to have some memory loss. Shouldn't they go?

"Look," she said firmly. "You've got amnesia. You need to go to a doctor."

"Am-amne- what?" the man asked, blinking rapidly.

"Amnesia. You can't remember things before I hit you."

"I remember everything perfectly well, thank you very much," the man spat.

"Y-you know who you are?"

"Yes."

"So … you don't have amnesia?"

"It would appear not," he said. His face was set, but his eyes were light as if he were _teasing_ her. Belle rocked on her heels, thinking. She couldn't just let him go; after all, she felt responsible for him now. She had to make sure he was all right.

"Will you at least stay at my place tonight? I've got a comfortable couch, and that way I can make sure that you're really all right.

"I will," he said quickly. "But give me a moment, first."

"Thank you," Belle said with a sigh of relief. The man took a few steps away from her, staring intensely into the distance.

"Trees," she heard him whisper. He bent at the knee and put a hand on the hard, smooth cement. He muttered something unintelligible before straightening himself and looking up at the sky. After a moment, he turned towards Belle again, but his gaze was fixed on the car. He placed his face in his hands, seemingly in desperation.

"Okay," he said, finally dropping his hands. "I – I think I'm ready."

With a small nod, Belle turned toward her car but paused with her hand on the door handle; the man was still standing a few feet away, staring at the car with a mixture of confusion and anxiety on his face. She walked around to his side of the car and opened the door. "It's all right," she said calmly. "It's just a car." The man raised an eyebrow but moved slowly towards the car. Once he was inside, Belle shut the door; he jumped in fright.

"Are you sure you don't have amnesia?" Belle asked when she was in the car. The man glared at her but didn't answer.

"Are you hungry?" Belle asked after driving in silence for a moment. "I was about to get food when I – well, you know."

"I – I could eat," he said flippantly. He sank deeper into the seat and turned towards his window. Belle pursed her lips as she finally turned off of the dark back road. She heard her guest inhale sharply in what she could only guess was shock. Lights of passing cars and nearby buildings lit up the otherwise dark night.

"What is this place?" he asked in awe.

"It's Peur Jointe," Belle said lightly.

"What is causing these lights?" he queried. "They do not look like lanterns."

"That's because they're not," she answered, her confusion mounting. "It's electricity." The man finally looked at her, his eyes full of anxiety.

"I – I have never seen such things before," he muttered. With a sigh, Belle pulled into the drive-thru line at McDonald's.

"What do you like from here?" she asked, afraid that she already knew the answer.  
"I'll have whatever you have," he replied quickly. When it was her turn, Belle ordered quickly; she could feel the man staring at her while she was placing her order.

"Who was speaking to you?" he asked with wide eyes.

"The person inside," she said. "They use an intercom system to take orders." The man didn't comment, but his ruined face was covered in confusion. After paying, Belle pulled forward where a girl with a bored look on her face thrust the bag of food into her hands.

"I don't live far from here," she said casually, trying to hide her growing curiosity and failing. "Where did you come from?" she blurted quickly.

"A very different place," the man answered after a pregnant pause.

"How were you suddenly in the road? I swear I didn't see you until you were just in front of me. Did you jump out?"

"No, I did not jump out." Belle mulled over his cryptic answers.

"Is that all you can tell me?" she prompted. He lowered his head in silence; Belle sighed in slight frustration.

"It is quite fanciful," he said softly. "I still feel as if I am dreaming. I do not think that you would believe me if I told you."

"You could try me," Belle said with a small smile. Again, she was met with silence. She gave up her interrogation as she drove towards the gate of her apartment building. She punched in the code and waited as the gate slid open.

"It opens on its own," the man said in a low voice. Once they were parked, Belle scooped up her purse and got out of the car. When she shut her door, she saw the man still inside, fumbling as he tried to open his door. She hurried to his side and let him out.

"Thank you," he muttered.

"Follow me," Belle ordered. "I'm in 113." She pulled her keys from her bag as they walked. As she thought about the strange man and the strange circumstance she found herself in, she ran her thumb along the purple plastic heart keychain she kept all of her keys on. Michael had given it to her a long time ago; she could just feel the painted letter 'S' that was all that remained of the white lettering that had adorned it.

She sighed when she reached the door and unlocked it quickly.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Belle said sheepishly as she entered the apartment.

It was a small but nice apartment. Belle led the way through the narrow entryway, bumping into the old table covered with papers as she did almost every time she entered. She caught sight of the mess she had left behind in the spacious living room and blushed. Books and articles of clothing were scattered over the tan couch and small dark coffee table.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Belle said, turning sheepishly around only to see that the man wasn't behind her. He had turned right from the entryway and gone into Belle's small kitchen. She watched as he stared openly at her refrigerator. He reached up and gently touched a photograph of Bethany and her; they had their arms around each other and broad grins on their faces.

"This painting is so … lifelike," the man commented.

"That's because it isn't a painting," Belle answered with a small laugh. "It's a photo." The man looked at her with wide eyes and her smile faded. "You really have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" The man shook his head. "There's a thing called a camera. It takes pictures of real life." His eyes widened, but he didn't comment. Belle took advantage of his distraction to pick up the dirty clothes from the living room. She threw them into her bedroom that branched off from the left wall of the living room.

"Do your parents own this residence?" he asked when she came back into the living room.

"Uh, no," she answered. "I rent it."

"Was it your husband's?"

"I've never had a husband," Belle said, her brow furrowing. "I rent this place – by myself."

"But you're – you're a woman," the man said, sounding flustered. Belle's eyes widened in irritation.

"I'm not sure where you're from," she said acidly. "But in this world, women can do anything men can. We can vote and own property and everything." She crossed her arms.

"I – forgive me," the man said, looking extremely uncomfortable. Belle stormed to the kitchen and pulled two plates from a cabinet. She pulled out their food and slid it onto the plates.

"Here you go," Belle said softly, putting the plates on the coffee table and sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it. The man stood awkwardly next to the table before slowly sitting down.

"Please, forgive me for my remark," he said lightly, looking down at the purple shag rug. "I – I am feeling very overwhelmed. I am not used to many things here."

"It's fine," Belle said, feeling a twinge of guilt. His apology seemed sincere, but why wouldn't he be familiar with the world?

"What is this?" he asked, staring pointedly at the plate.

"A Big Mac," Belle answered, broken from her reverie; she began to devour her fries. She nearly choked with laughter as he timidly poked the bun.

"It's a burger," she added, amused. "You eat it. It's pretty good." He picked up the burger and examined it for several moments before taking a small bite.

"It is not bad," he admitted after swallowing. They ate in silence for a moment before Belle gathered the courage to question him again.

"So, still think your story is too crazy for me?"

"I am still deciding if even I believe it," he answered lightly. "What is that thing?" he asked, pointing at the barely-used television that sat in the corner of the living room.

"A T.V.," she answered. She tried to think of how to explain a television. "Do you know what a play is? Like, theatre."

"Yes," he said, sounding relieved that she had a comparison he could understand.

"Well, people put on plays and they are recorded by a sort-of camera. Then anyone can watch the plays whenever they'd like."

"Is there magic here?" he asked, as if that were the only explanation for such phenomenal things.

"No," Belle said with a laugh. "Is there magic where you come from?" Her brown eyes danced with amusement.

"Of course," he said, frowning at her; Belle's grin slid away.

"So where do you come from?"

"Give me some time, please," he implored, playing with a French fry. "Tell me about this place."

"Like I said, this town is called Peur Jointe. It's in California, which is in the United States of America." The man continued to stare at her with a blank expression.

"What year is it?" he asked quietly.

"Two thousand and twelve," Belle said, watching his face closely. At her words, he inhaled sharply.

"You're lying," he said, narrowing his eyes.

"No I am not!" Belle exclaimed. She scrambled up and dug around the drawer of the table in the entryway. She returned, brandishing a calendar. She pointed at the date: August 25, 2012. The man's eyes became glassy and he covered his mouth and nose with his hands.

"Not what you were expecting," Belle offered; it was a statement, not a question.

"No," he allowed, biting into a fry.

"Who else lives here?" he asked after a while.

"No one," she answered, confused by his question. The man nearly choked on his food.

"You mean we're alone? You plan on my staying here, and we're going to be alone?"

"Well, yes."

"No chaperones, no maids, no family members?" he exclaimed.

"No."

"That is – that is unheard of! It's unseemly and inappropriate!"

"I'm starting to think you're joking with me," Belle said anxiously. "Look, nowadays people – well, it's okay for men and women to be alone together." The man looked mortified. "Okay, listen – you'll be in here, on the couch, and I'll be in my room. I swear I won't – I won't try anything." Belle couldn't believe how ridiculous the words sounded coming out of her mouth.

"Try anything?" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging. "I – it doesn't matter your intentions, it is still inappropriate. Extremely inappropriate."

"People don't think it is now," Belle reasoned.

"This is insanity," he said with a frown. "You really see no problem in our being alone together?"

"We're just going to sleep in the same apartment," Belle said, her cheeks flaming. "I don't see an issue." Belle gathered the empty plates and headed towards the sink in the kitchen.

"Would you like a shower and a change of clothes?" she called as she washed the plates.

"A shower?"

"Uh, it's like a bath."

"No. I bathed three days ago."

Belle blanched. "Okay, in this place, we shower every day. Or at least, most people do. I've known some people that skip a day, but I definitely prefer showering every day." She could see the man wrinkle his nose through the window in the kitchen. "Besides, your clothes are filthy," she said, trying not to sound condescending. "I have some old clothes of Mi – well, I have clothes that would probably fit you, but you should be clean before you wear them."

"Fine," the man said with a sigh. "If that's what you do here, then I'll … 'shower.'"

"Thank you," Belle said with a smile. "Come on, this way."

"How is this even possible?" the man asked when Belle showed him the shower.

"We have indoor plumbing," Belle answered, lightly touching the neon pink flowery shower curtain that adorned her tub. She absolutely detested the design; it was far too girlish for her tastes. The edges were slightly frayed. Belle knew that she should throw it out and buy a new one, but she couldn't bring herself to. Her mother had bought her the shower curtain almost four years ago.

"You no longer use wells?" the man asked, tearing Belle's eyes from the curtain.

"Some people do," she said, frowning. "But we don't have to draw the water out like people used to. It works differently now."

After a moment, Belle continued, "You really won't tell me anything?" Her question was met with silence and she ground her teeth in aggravation. "Oh come on!" she exclaimed. More silence. She was just about to throw a fit when she remembered that she _did_ hit this man with a car. Maybe demanding answers from him wasn't the best thing to do. Belle sighed and didn't press the matter further.

Soon the man was in the shower in her bathroom; she hoped he remembered all of her instructions. Belle dug around in her closet, searching for the box she knew was in there somewhere. Finally, her hand closed on a piece of cardboard; she lugged the box out and found a variety of boxers, shorts, jeans, t-shirts, and socks that Michael had left. He had insisted she keep them in case he ever wanted to stop by.

She toyed with the hem of an AC/DC shirt that she had bought for Michael years ago and hoped these clothes would fit. The man looked to be a good bit taller than Michael, so they might be a little short on him. For now, though, they would have to do.

"Excuse me?" his muffled voice called form the bathroom. "I'm done."

"Wrap yourself up in the towel so I can bring in clothes," Belle called back. After a moment, the bathroom door slowly opened. The man had wrapped the towel much higher than his navel, as if to cover up as much of his skin as possible. Belle could see that the scarring and burns from his neck and face were also present on his now-exposed chest.

"Don't stare," he hissed, hunching his shoulders in.

"I wasn't!" Belle argued, turning pink. She quickly turned her attention to the clothes in her arms. "These are boxers," she said, laying them on the bathroom counter. "They're underwear. These are shorts, obviously. I brought a shirt, but you don't have to wear one to bed if you don't want to."

When the man emerged a few minutes later, Belle noticed that the clothes were indeed too short for him. He tugged relentlessly at the shirt, attempting to keep his abdomen from showing.

"I'm sorry if they're a bit small, but they're all I have," she apologized.

"These are men's clothes?" he asked with a raised brow. Belle nodded. "To whom do they belong? Why do you have men's clothing?"

"Uh, someone left them here," Belle said, nervously touching the ends of her hair. "Now, can I get you anything else before bed? Water, or anything?"

"No," he replied shortly. Belle pulled a blanket and a spare pillow from her closet and hurried to the living room.

"I hope you'll be comfortable on the couch," she said as she put them down. Turning around, she saw that the man had his back to her; he was fidgeting with the shirt again. "You're bleeding again," she said, noticing that the scrape on his head had reopened.

"I'm fine," he snapped, but Belle made a sound of dissent.

"Let me bandage it," she demanded, moving to her bathroom without waiting for a response. "You'll bleed on my couch." She pulled some gauze and surgical tape from her bathroom cabinet and returned to the living room. "Sit on the couch," she ordered.

"I'm fine," he repeated through clenched teeth. Belle narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

"You sit down right now or I'll make you." The man opened his mouth to protest but finally sat reluctantly on the couch.

Belle sat on the edge next to him and gently placed the bandage over his wound. Again, she couldn't help but notice the scars lining his skin; what on earth had happened to him?

"All done," she said after a moment.

"Thank you," he grumbled. Belle stood up and walked towards her room, but paused in the doorway.

"Can I at least know your name?" she asked, running her finger along the doorframe.

Silence.

"It's René." For some reason, Belle found that a smile crept onto her face. "Will you not return the favor?"

"I'm A- Belle. I'm Belle." After another pause, she said, "I'll leave my door open tonight in case you need anything."

"I would prefer it if you would keep it shut," Rene said, fidgeting uncomfortable. Belle sighed, but Rene held up his hand to stop her protest. "This is all extremely strange to me. I am overwhelmed and quite uncomfortable, but I am trying. It would make me feel a tad better if you would shut the door."

"Okay," Belle relented. "If you need anything, though, feel free to come in." She had a feeling he would never do it, but thought that she should at least offer. "Good night."

"Good night, Belle. I wish you pleasant dreams."

Belle shut the door behind her and stood for a moment with her brow furrowed. She had no earthly idea what was going on.

Part of her clung to the idea that this evening had merely been a hallucination, brought on by a lack of sleep.

_But you haven't _had_ a lack of sleep lately, _she thought. Toying with the ends of her hair nervously, she made her way across her bedroom, kicking aside a teddy bear that she had flung out of the closet in her search for men's clothing. She wondered off-handedly if Michael still had his matching bear.

She changed quickly and then shot back to her bedroom door; she stopped with her ear against the keyhole, but Rene made no sound.

If this was real, she desperately hoped that no serious harm would come to him. Clearly _something_ was wrong with him, but she couldn't tell if it was in his head or something more serious.

If this was a hallucination … at least it would be over in the morning. As she retired to her bed, she tried to push these troubling thoughts from her head; one thing, though, resounded in her mind even as she teetered over the edge into unconsciousness.

"_Is there magic where you come from?"_

_ "Of course."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Hey guys! (: I am sorry about how long it has been since this story was posted, but I wanted to finish "Love Changes Things" without too many distractions. Now that it's over, I'm excited to be able to dedicate most of my time to this story!

Just so everyone knows: This story is going to be very AU in nature. There will be similarities, but for the most part this will be very different from the traditional BatB. There are original characters hidden among the cast, though; with the help of I've given some characters more modern names - bonus points and lots of love to anyone who can identify a character! (:

I'd love reviews; I've never done something SO AU, so I really hope it turns out well. Thanks to my betas and to all of my readers! I hope you guys enjoy this story.

* * *

A banging noise invaded Belle's dreams, making her frown in her sleep.

"Mademoi – uh, Belle?"

Belle turned over, trying to ignore whatever came from outside of her peaceful sleep, but the rapping noise grew louder.

"Belle! There's someone knocking on your front door!" At that, Belle sat up in her bed, momentarily alarmed. Who was in her apartment? She sighed as the memories of the previous evening flooded her mind.

"Just a second," she called, scrambling out of bed. She flung her bedroom door open; Rene stood in front of her, a concerned expression on his face. When he saw her, he gasped and covered his eyes with one hand.

"You're – you're indecent!" he exclaimed. Belle looked down at her t-shirt and shorts: ordinary sleeping attire, in her opinion. She tugged at the bottom of her shorts self-consciously. They reached almost to her knees; they were far from inappropriate.

"I – no, I'm not!" she argued, turning red. Now she could hear the rapping that hadn't been Rene; someone was banging on her front door and shouting something unintelligible. Belle moved to open the front door; she could tell now that the voice was a woman's. She flung open the door to see her angry best friend staring her down. Realization hit her and she gasped.

"I didn't text you last night," Belle said sheepishly.

"You sure didn't," Bethany said angrily, pushing her way into the apartment. "I was worried sick! You leave work late, you're driving alone through town at night, you come home alone, and you don't even let me know that you're home …" Bethany stopped suddenly, staring at the blanket and pillow on the couch.

"Who's staying here?" Bethany demanded.

"I, uh," Belle began. She sighed, knowing full well that she couldn't lie about last night. "I kind of – hit someone with my car last night."

"You what!" Bethany exclaimed, her eyes widening rapidly.

"He's all right," Belle said quickly. "I – mostly – stopped on time, so I just knocked him over. I felt bad and responsible, though –"

"As you should have!" Bethany interjected lightly. Belle raised an eyebrow before continuing.

"I felt bad, so I asked him to stay the night so I could be sure he was really okay."

"You said 'he,' right?" Bethany asked. Belle sighed.

"Is that the only part of my story you caught?" she asked her friend. Bethany grinned and tossed her long blonde hair.

"Is he cute? How old is he?"

"Uh, Beth," Belle said, clearly flustered.

"Where is he, anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Belle answered honestly; Rene had deserted the living room. "I suppose he's in the bathroom."

"I'll have to meet him some other time," Bethany said with a wink. "I'm meeting Lou in a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure that you weren't dead in an alley somewhere."

"I know, I know," Belle sighed. "I'll be sure to give you a minute-by-minute rundown of my day next time." Bethany laughed and gave Belle a quick hug before seeing herself out.

"Is she gone?" came a soft voice from Belle's bedroom.

"You could have come out, you know," Belle said in lieu of an answer. Rene stuck his head around the corner sheepishly.

"I – I prefer not to be seen," he said lightly. Belle sighed, but her heart surged with pity. Especially in today's society, disfigurement could not be an easy thing to bear. "Who was she?" he asked after a moment.

"My friend Bethany. She's the girl in the picture you saw last night," she added, in case he remembered. "I forgot to text her last night and let her know that I was home."

"Text?"

"Oh, boy," Belle said with a sigh, plopping herself down on the couch.

"Aren't you going to put more clothing on?" Rene asked, averting his eyes. Belle groaned.

"You really are serious about all of this, aren't you?" she asked. "I thought it might have been a charade, but you _really_ don't know much about this place, do you?" Rene shook his head.

"I half expected to wake up home, in my own bed, and for all of this to have been a dream," he added softly. He slowly moved across the room, his shoulders hunched in and his head bowed slightly.

He seemed determined to keep as much of his body hidden from view as possible. When he finally reached the couch, he opted to sit on the floor instead of the couch with Belle. He turned slightly so that she could only see a portion of his profile.

"Me too," Belle muttered. "Clearly, though this isn't a dream. Anyway, what are you going to do now? Where do you live? Is there somewhere I can drop you off, or someone I can call …?"

Rene bit his lip but didn't answer her.

"Where are you going to go?" Belle prompted.

"I – I have nowhere to go. I told you, I am not from this place." Belle's jaw dropped.

"What do you mean you have nowhere to go?" she demanded.

"I just don't," he snapped. Immediately, he looked remorseful. "I – I apologize, but I am being truthful. I have nowhere to go. Perhaps – perhaps, we could come to some agreement and I could stay here a little longer." Belle's head began to spin; she leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

This whole situation was getting out of hand. Belle tried to think clearly and put everything in order.

This man had appeared out of nowhere in front of her car. He seemed to have no knowledge of the world – or at least the modern world. Now he wanted to stay with her ….

"I don't know anything about you!" Belle cried suddenly. "Look," she continued, glaring slightly. "If you want me to even being to _consider_ allowing you to stay here, I want some answers; I want answers _now._"

"I don't know if you'll believe me," Rene said quietly, lowering his head further. "You will think me crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy," Belle insisted. "Just tell me – tell me what happened to you." The man sighed and held his head in his hands. After a pregnant pause, he spoke.

"As I have said before, I am not from here. I believe, however, that I have spoken incorrectly. I am not from _now_."

"What are you talking about?" Belle demanded when he did not continue.

"My name is Rene Laurent. I live in France in a large estate with a small household of servants in the year 1746." Belle began to laugh and play with her hair nervously.

"What do you mean, 1746?"

"I mean 1746!" he exclaimed. "I told you that you would think me insane."

"I'll play along," Belle said. "How did you get here?"

"Well, I …" Rene trailed off and played with the fringe of the purple rug. "Many years ago, I was given an enchanted mirror."

"An enchanted _mirror_?" Belle cut in. Rene turned his head to give her a desperate look and she snapped her mouth shut, feeling a little guilty. "I apologize. Please, continue." Rene sighed.

He spoke again, but never one lifted his eyes from the floor.

"This mirror – it let me _see_ people, just by asking to see them. When it was first given to me, I could hardly believe it myself. It was only once I saw it with my own eyes that I was able to accept that the enchantment that was upon it was real. Somehow, though I did not know it until yesterday evening, the mirror was also some sort of – some sort of portal. It brought me here last night.

"That is when you hit me with your – 'car,' was it?" Belle nodded without speaking.

This man _had_ to be pulling her leg. He didn't seem to be mentally unstable, so the only other option was that this was some enormous hoax. But ...

Rene didn't seem to be acting when he showed surprise or shock at the world around him. He had been so against their staying in the apartment alone together, and had seemed legitimately opposed to her outfit this morning. Could someone feign these reactions?

If he wasn't acting, then the only thing that could explain it was his story.

"Let me get this straight," Belle said with a sigh. "A magical mirror transported you from 18th century France to modern-day America?"

"Believe me, mademoiselle, I know how crazy my tale seems. If I had not experienced it first-hand, I would not be able to believe it, either."

Belle had to rationalize and debunk the story he had woven. When he called her 'mademoiselle,' she spotted her first piece of ammunition.

"If you are from 18th century France, why do you speak English?" She could just see the corner of his wasted mouth turn up into a smile; he seemed relieved that she at least believed him enough to question him.

"My father was a French diplomat. As such, he often traveled to England and other countries to meet with high-ranking officials; it was imperative that he speak their languages properly. His work began before I was even born, so he hired a household of English or English-speaking servants so that I would grow up with both languages. My mother also had to learn, though I quickly excelled above her. Learning languages as a child is much easier."

Belle pulled on her short hair. He had an answer for that question – a sincere answer, at that. Her confusion mounted as her brain battled with the fact that his story explained this odd situation.

"Let's assume that I believe you," she began. "Why would the mirror bring you here?"

Rene hesitated before answering.

"I believe that there is something here that I need – something that will help me."

"So you _wanted_ to come here?" Belle demanded.

"I don't know," Rene said, sounding slightly sad. "But I'm here, nonetheless."

"Where is this mirror?" Belle asked; she hoped secretly that he wouldn't be able to produce it and she could disprove this tale at last.

"Where are my clothes from last night?"

"In the bathroom," Belle answered. They stood up and made their way to her bathroom. "You said it – it _shows_ you people?" Rene nodded. "Can you prove it to me?"

"Of course," he said, reaching into his trouser pocket and producing a small hand mirror. He handed it to Belle, and she couldn't help but gasp at its beauty.

It truly did look like it had come from the 18th century. It was golden with an ornate rim around its shiny glass. When Belle wrapped her hand around the twisted lines of the handle, she felt a pulse of energy shoot through her body. Shaking her head slightly and deciding to ignore the electricity that seemed to be emanating from the mirror, she looked at Rene again.

"I just ask it to show me someone?" Rene nodded; for once, his shocking blue eyes watched her without reservation for the first time. He seemed almost excited. "Show me – Bethany. Please."

There was a small flash of light; Belle's reflection in the mirror disappeared and instead her best friend appeared in the glass. Bethany was driving her small green car, humming along to the blaring radio.

Startled, Belle jumped and let out a gasp; the mirror fell from her hand and to the floor where it shattered.

"Oh my God!" Belle shouted, kneeling on the ground as she stammered an apology. "I'm so sorry, I just – well, that really shocked me. I can't believe it actually worked, I'm so sorry! Do you think we can –" At once, Belle stopped talking. She had just reached for a large sliver of glass to begin cleaning up when the pieces began to move.

They relocated themselves slowly at first, but they quickly picked up speed. As Belle watched, her eyes widening rapidly, the broken mirror put itself back together.

"Do you believe me now?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note:** Hello everyone! I am SO sorry about how long it has been since I've updated. Life can really be crazy sometimes. To make it up to you, this chapter is a long one! I start my junior year of college soon, so I'm not going to promise weekly updates but I _will_ promise that I will update as often as possible. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, and thanks to my lovely betas! (:  
I love reviews *wink* (: I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

-To avoid confusion, this chapter is the first two chapters from Rene's point of view-

* * *

The bedroom was pitch black and silent. Even though there was a full moon, no light shone through the windows; the thick curtains covering them had been nailed shut years ago. The darkness was so thick that at first glance, it was nearly impossible to see the man sitting quietly on the floor. His fine clothing was dirty and frayed; he was too apathetic to take care of or have pride in his appearance. However fancy his clothes may have been, no fine wardrobe could take away the disfigurement that marred his body.

Thick, ridged scars and burnt flesh covered him, centered mostly on his face, neck, and shoulders. More blemishes dotted his exposed arms, and covered his chest, stomach, and legs beneath his clothing.

To the man, the room was as clear as if a light was shining in it. After years of sitting alone in the dark, his eyes had almost permanently adjusted.

Suddenly, a small knock sounded on the door to the room. The man didn't move; his gaze was still locked on a small vase that sat on a short end table next to him. In the vase was a single rose so red and vibrant it seemed to have an ethereal glow.

Of course, it might have only seemed that way because of how the man saw it; obsessing over an object could change how a person looked at it. He didn't answer even when the knock came again, this time louder and harder.

"Dinner is ready," came a soft elderly voice. Still, the man was silent. The knocker sighed. "Dear, we have this argument every night. You aren't eating enough!"

"You worry too much, Madame Potts," the man said with a hint of a smile on his otherwise gnarled face.

"René Laurent," Madame Potts said; René could visualize the frown on her usually kind face. "This has gone on long enough. When are you going to start living again?" René stared at the rose intently, allowing his self-pity to wash over him. After a while of silence, he heard Madame Potts finally leave.

"My life is over," he whispered in despair to no one.

It had been six years – six _long_ years – since his life had effectively ended. At first he had tried to hold onto hope and live normally, but that soon proved to be impossible. He had been angry and bitter next, but he knew in his heart that he had brought this fate upon himself. For the past two years, he had hardly emerged from his room of eternal darkness. He desperately hoped that one day he would fall asleep and not wake up; he would finally be free from his misery.

He leaned against the bed he rarely slept in as his gaze fell from the rose in the vase to a golden mirror that lay on the floor a few feet away.

He was suddenly struck with an urge to look into the mirror – to look at _her._

"No," he muttered, trying to banish that thought from his head. He had gazed upon her face in the mirror three times in the past week, and with each stolen glance he was filled with hope – false hope.

He did not know who this girl was or where she lived or why she wore such strange things and had such short hair. When he had first seen her, her countenance had been hidden in shadows and he thought he was looking at a boy.

When he saw her face, though, he knew beyond a doubt that she was a woman – the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. The short haircut even looked good with her face in a strange way that he could not explain; he had never seen a woman with hair cut above her bosom. He had pushed away the mirror in desolation; why had it shown him someone so beautiful? She was gorgeous and he was – wretched. Even if he did know where she lived or who she was, he would have no chance with her.

He knew that he should stop looking at her in the mirror and accept his fate, but his withered heart yearned for her visage.

Trembling slightly, he reached for the magical mirror that had become his only link to the world outside of his desolate bedroom. An internal struggle raged within him, but his desires eventually won out.

His pale right hand, only blemished with a single large scar across it, wrapped around the twisted handle of the mirror. He held it to his face, grateful that he could not see his reflection in the dark. Once enacted, however, the mirror would illuminate to show him whomever he requested no matter how black the room was.

"Show me her – the girl who can break my curse."

A flash of light shone from the mirror, which no longer reflected René or the room around him. The image in the glass was dark, but René could tell that it was her again. She was in some sort of – _thing._ René could see trees flying past her out of a window; was she in a carriage, perhaps? He had seen her only in a building full of books before now. There had been more people dressed in strange clothing like her: women in trousers, men in dresses, and hair of every color imaginable. She was saying something now; she appeared to be talking to her hand.

René's brow furrowed as he listened to her beautiful, clear voice.

"_You_ live alone," she said with a small smirk.

To whom was she speaking? René was so caught up in the mystery of it that he missed her next words.

"Bye," she finally said, throwing something down beside her. Had she been talking to herself, or to something? She was silent now, staring straight ahead with a strange expression on her face. Her coal black hair hung around her face; her eyes were a dark brown, nearly as dark as her hair. She had a kind and beautiful face.

At that moment, René felt a longing he had never known before. Oh, what he would give just to meet this woman! To hear her light voice, to know her, to spend any amount of time with her! His ruined face wrinkled in agony; whatever he might wish, he knew that he would never know this woman. Desperate for any part of her, he lightly touched her visage in the mirror, something he had never done before.

Although there had been no movement in the room, René felt as if the very air around him had stopped moving. He jumped and let out a surprised shout when his hand sunk into the mirror. His mind reeled as he saw his elbow now disappearing through the glass.

"Madame Potts!" he shouted, real terror seizing him. He was falling and shrinking all at the same time, though he felt no pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping for this to end, when suddenly both René and the mirror disappeared from the room.

René was everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sensation of passing through cobwebs overcame his body and then in the next instant, his feet landed on a hard surface; the mirror was still clutched in his hand, somehow.

When he opened his eyes he was met with two blinding bright lights; he threw one arm over his eyes and slid the mirror into his pocket with the other. Before he had the chance to wrap his mind around what was going on, there was a loud screech and something large and hard hit him in the stomach. He was knocked off of his feet and onto the hard ground; the back of his head landed with a thud.

"Oh God," he muttered, clutching his head; pain pulsed through him with every beat of his heart. He heard a loud slam that made his head hurt even more, and he groaned. He heard a woman's voice shouting; he thought it was familiar but was so overcome with pain that he couldn't place it.

When she knelt beside him, he managed to let out an accusatory moan of, "You hit me." With his eyes still shut tightly, he tried to compose himself in the silence that followed. After a few minutes, he realized that she had to be silent because she was staring at his ruined flesh.

He snapped his eyes open to get up and move away from her gaze that he was sure would be on him. When he saw the face staring down at him, his heart stopped.

It was _her_!

Somehow, someway, she was here! René shot halfway into a sitting position but his aching head disoriented him and he fell back to the ground with a thud. Then she was there, reaching and pulling and helping him to sit up. He could hardly believe it!

She was touching him; she hadn't run screaming in fear when she saw his face! He knew she must have noticed his disfigurement, for his blue eyes had met her warm chocolate ones. No, sure enough, she had seen him – yet, she was still here. She was here!

"You," he whispered, hardly able to believe that the girl he had seen in his mirror was inches away from him. She began to prattle on; her voice interfered with his thoughts. He was trying to process and rationalize what had happened, but he couldn't because she wouldn't stop _talking_. He was so awed to hear her voice, but he needed to _think_! His old habit of a bad attitude got the best of him, and he snapped at her; immediately he was filled with regret.

He inwardly scolded himself and struggled to be proper and respectful in his tone; somehow, he had been brought to the girl that – according to the mirror – could break his curse. He could not risk messing this up.

"Also, what was that word you used a moment ago? 'C-car?'" he asked, looking at what she must have been riding in. So, it wasn't a carriage after all. But what was this 'car' thing? He stared at her for a moment before looking at the huge metal monster. It was smaller than a carriage, but so _strange_-looking. How did it go without horses to pull it?

"What is a car?"

"Don't joke."

She thought he was joking with her? He wondered vaguely if there were many 'cars' where she was from. What _was_ this place?

"I am also puzzled by your clothing and hair," René added.

She reached for him after a moment and tried to help him up, but René – no longer completely overcome by pain – had regained his self-consciousness. He pushed lightly at her, insisting upon standing up on his own. After all, she couldn't _want_ to have physical contact with him. No one ever did.

She seemed terrified when she pointed out that he had a scratch on the back of his head; René touched it softly and scoffed at the small amount of blood.

"I am fine, madame," he insisted. He was taken aback by her suggestion to see a physician. How ridiculous would it be to see a doctor for a small scratch and a bump on the head? Too ridiculous, René knew.

"You've got amnesia. You need to go to a doctor," she persisted. René struggled over yet another unfamiliar word. She seemed patient in her explanation. "Amnesia. You can't remember things before I hit you."

René's pride took over again, and he was snapping at the girl before he could stop himself. "I remember everything perfectly well, thank you very much." He winced slightly; it had been a long time since he had needed to impress someone; he would have to watch what he said.

"Y-you know who you are?"

"Yes," René said, managing not to snap this time.

"So … you don't have amnesia?" René almost laughed.

"It would appear not," he teased lightly. Then, the only thing that could make this situation perfect happened; she asked him to come to her home. René had been beginning to fear that she would leave him alone here; he had been preparing to try and convince her to spend more time with him, but she had suggested it!

"I will," he blurted in relief. "But give me a moment, first." Now that the initial shock of meeting her was slowly subsiding, René needed to take a look around and figure out where he was.

Reluctant as he was to remove his gaze from her, he moved away to look at the landscape. They were surrounded by trees – at least these were familiar. The hardness of the ground beneath his feet caught his attention and he bent to observe the strange street. It was solid and black, not full of dirt and rocks like the roads he was used to. What was this substance? With a small sigh, he stood back up and gazed at the night sky.

It had been years since he had _really_ looked at the sky, let alone from the outdoors. The moon was full and bright, surrounded by twinkling stars. Their gleaming made him smile in spite of himself. Remembering himself, he turned back to the woman; his heart skipped a beat when he noticed that her warm gaze was still on him. His eyes fell almost immediately back to the metal contraption she had been in, and his stomach fell. What was that thing? What was this place? He held his face in his hands, trying to steady himself.

The overwhelming sensation of seeing _her_ was marred slightly by the uncomfortable circumstances of his arrival. He had no idea what this place was, and it was making him nervous. He had to be confident, though; he couldn't risk messing up his chance with this girl. He put on a brave face as she walked towards the metal monster, but his nerves got the better of him. What was he supposed to do? How could he get into it?

What was it even called, again? A 'car?' The girl rushed to his rescue, to his utter delight. She patiently helped him in, though he couldn't help but jump when the door slammed so close to him.

In a moment, she asked if he was hungry. He tried to ignore the pangs of hunger from his stomach; how long had it been since he had eaten a real meal? He agreed, but tried not to sound as if her were starving. Anxiety wracked him.

What if she did these things out of pity? What if she only felt bad for him because of his disfigurement, and she didn't actually want to be around him? He shrank into the seat and looked out of the clear window. The car slowed and began to turn, and René gasped.

His eyes nearly burned from all of the lights that shone from more metal monsters and tall buildings. Where were these lights coming from? Candle and torch light did not shine this brightly; was he just imagining how blinding the lights were because of his years in the shadows? Even though his eyes were not used to light, he could not believe that it was simply fire shining through the darkness.

"What is this place?"

"It's Peur Jointe," the girl answered. René recognized French in the name of the town, and his confusion grew. This wasn't France … was it?

"What is causing these lights?" he asked, moving to the next point of concern. "They do not look like lanterns." His eyes widened and his brow furrowed when she mentioned something called 'electricity.' He hoped that he did not appear dull to her; in his home, he had been considered a bright man.

They drove up to a building with a large yellow sign that resembled a letter 'M.' When the girl asked him what he wanted, he tried to cover his ignorance by asking for whatever she would like. Somehow, René didn't think that she was buying his act.

He watched as her window shrank away and she began to speak – not to him, but to an unseen person. Was this what he had seen her do earlier; talk to no one? His eyes widened when he heard someone respond to her.

"Who was speaking to you?" he asked when she pulled away from the spot. Perhaps that spot had contained magic of some sort, though he could not imagine what kind. When she again spoke of something that he had never heard of – this time, an 'intercom' – he sat in silence, refusing to show any more ignorance at the moment. How could he win her over if she thought him simple?

"Where did you come from?" she blurted quickly. René almost smiled; apparently he wasn't the only one full to the brim with questions. He thought about how best to answer her without sounding crazy.

He was certain that telling her that he had traveled through a magical mirror would frighten her away; indeed, René knew that if he had not been the one to fall through the glass, he would not believe it himself.

"A very different place," he answered truthfully. He had seen nothing in his time with the girl to make him believe that he was still in France.

He dodged her questions as they passed more strange lights; he hoped she would not become frustrated. He would tell her his story sometime, but he was not ready to do so at this moment.

Although he was trying to hide his unfamiliarity with this place, he could not help but express his shock when a gate slid open on its own. Before René had recovered from seeing this, the car was still and the girl was outside. He looked at the door that held him captive and ran a hand over it, trying to find a way to open it. In a second, she was at his side and letting him out. He flushed, embarrassed that she had to help him out so much.

"Thank you," he muttered, refusing to seem ungrateful. He followed her into her residence, marveling in the cluster of homes so close together. There were dozens of them stacked on top of one another, each identical as if made from the same mold. Once inside, something shiny in the room immediately to his right caught his eye.

There was a silver box on the kitchen counter with two slots in it. He sighed, giving in to his confusion. He looked around the small room full of unfamiliar objects. A large white container stood taller than he was to his right. Round things in purple, blue, and green dotted the porcelain surface, holding papers and paintings in place. His gaze fell to a painting of the girl and another woman, both smiling brightly. He stared at it, engrossed in the quality of it. What artist had captured them in such realistic detail? He touched it gently, hoping to feel its texture and guess what kind of paint had made it, but it was glossy and smooth.

"This painting is so … lifelike," he said breathlessly.

"That's because it isn't a painting," she answered with a laugh; his heart sank; he must look so stupid! "It's a photo."

What on earth was a photo?

"There's a thing called a called a camera. It takes pictures of real life." René's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he pressed his lips together and continued to stare at the photo. She looked beautiful in it; her smile was wide and enchanting.

After a moment, he realized that she was no longer in the small room with him. Uncertainly he moved into the more open room. There was a large tan chaise-like object along one wall with pillows striped in tangerine, turquoise, and a bright purple. He marveled silently in the sheer amount of books she owned; two walls were almost entirely devoted to bookshelves a head taller than he was. There were more photos dotted along them, but the majority of the space was filled with books of every size and color.

She entered the living room again, and it struck him that he had seen no male figures in the home so far. To whom did this place belong?

"Do your parents own this residence?"

"Uh, no," she answered slowly. "I rent it." René's mind boggled. What did she mean, _she_ rented it? He guessed that she must be a widow, and he felt slightly saddened; her heart must have belonged to another.

"Was it your husband's?"

"I've never had a husband. I rent this place – by myself." Mind reeling, René tried to understand how that was possible.

"But you're – you're a woman," he protested. He was taken aback when her expression became one of aggravation.

"I'm not sure where you're from," she said, her voice dripping with acid, "but in this world, women can do anything men can. We can vote and own property and everything."

René struggled to grasp that concept: a world where women could do everything a man could. True enough, he had met some truly brilliant women in his time, but they were _women_ nonetheless. However crazy this might be, he could tell that he had offended the girl.

"I – forgive me," he begged humbly. His heart fell when she did not reply, but instead dashed away into the small room he had just been in. When she returned with two plates, though, her tone was softer.

"Here you go," she said as she seated herself on the floor next to the wooden table. René had never eaten a meal while sitting on the floor, but he was determined to follow her lead.

"Please, forgive me for my remark," he said, trying once again to apologize. He couldn't bear her to be upset with him. "I – I am feeling very overwhelmed. I am not used to many things here."

"It's fine," she answered. The flippant acceptance would have to be enough for René at the moment. He glanced down to see what she had put in front of him.

"What is this?" he asked, staring at the strange food on the plate.

"A Big Mac," she asked. She picked up one of the long, thin things and popped it into her mouth. What the hell was a Big Mac? His hunger got the best of him, and he lightly touched the bread. "It's a burger," she continued. "You eat it. It's pretty good." René held the burger in his hand and stared at it, trying to decide if he trusted it. Eventually, he decided that he trusted the girl's recommendation, so he steeled himself and took a bite.

"It is not bad," he said truthfully. He ate a little more of it before trying one of the things she had eaten before; they tasted a bit like potatoes and were very good.

"So, still think your story is too crazy for me?" she asked. René set his burger down, struggling between a desire to be honest with her and a reluctance to tell her such a crazy tale.

"I am still deciding if even I believe it," he said gently. A box-looking object in the corner of the room caught his eye, and he hurried to change the subject. "What is that thing?"

"A T.V. Do you know what a play is? Like, theatre."

"Yes," René said, glad to finally understand something she mentioned. Before his curse had been enacted, he had often gone to the opera house to see works of Shakespeare or Lully.

"Well, people put on plays and they are recorded by a sort-of camera. Then anyone can watch the plays whenever they'd like."

How curious this place was. Being able to watch a play or an opera without having to leave your own home was a remarkable idea, but how on earth did they accomplish it? Being able to record real life events and play them back seemed like the work of a fairy or an enchantress to René.

"Is there magic here?" he asked her.

"No," she answered with a laugh. "Is there magic where you come from?" He could see the teasing in her eyes, and it upset him. Did she truly think that he was joking with her?

"Of course," he answered with a frown; her smile faded.

"So where did you come from?" she asked again.

"Give me some time, please," he pleaded, playing with his food. "Tell me about this place."

"It's in California, which is in the United States of America."

_America_? It was a faraway place from France, he knew. He had never heard of the United States part of America. Maybe it was a part of the Americas that Britain did not have control of yet.

"What year is it?" he asked; that might help him decipher her answers.

"Two thousand and twelve," she answered, staring at his face as if to gauge his reaction. He took in a sharp breath in shock.

"You're lying," he accused, though he had a nagging feeling that she was telling the truth. His mind spun as he realized that the only thing that could explain the strange things around him was the date. Had he traveled into the future? Two thousand and twelve was a long way from seventeen hundred and forty-six. In a flash, she was up, trying to defend her statement. She returned with a calendar. The date was written clearly at the top: August 25, 2012.

René held his face in his hands and tried to calm himself down. Two thousand and twelve?! How had the mirror done this? He realized that it would be even harder to tell her his tale now; who would believe that he had somehow been transported into the future?

"Not what you were expecting," she said gently.

"No," he agreed, taking another bite of food and trying to appear level-headed.

They sat in silence for a while as René tried to comprehend the events of that evening. The silence suddenly startled him; he could not hear the sounds of maids shuffling through rooms or other family members preparing for bed. Where were the other people?

"Who else lives here?" he questioned.

"No one," she said slowly. The food René had taken a bite of stuck in his throat, threatening to choke him. He coughed loudly, clearing his windpipe and spun fully towards her.

"You mean we're alone? You plan on my staying here, and we're going to be alone?"

"Well, yes." What on earth had happened to the future? A man and a woman, unmarried, sleeping in a house alone together? The mere mention of it in his time would have created a scandal that spread through the town like wildfire. The couple would be forced to marry, or worse.

"No chaperones, no maids, no family members?" he demanded. She must have misunderstood him; they could not stay in the house alone together!

"No," she answered bluntly. René's heart nearly stopped.

"That is – that is unheard of!" he exclaimed. "It's unseemly and inappropriate!"

"I'm starting to think you're joking with me," she said anxiously. "Look, nowadays people – well, it's okay for men and women to be alone together." René's eyes widened in shock. Did the people now have no morals? "Okay, listen – you'll be in here, on the couch, and I'll be in my room. I swear I won't – I won't try anything." She turned a delicate shade of pink.

René was by no means innocent, but she seemed to be. It was one thing to sneak around and bed women in secrecy, but to parade around openly with no supervision was a startling prospect. Didn't she care for her virtue or reputation? He thought of the women from his time. A governor's daughter would never go anywhere alone with a man; she would act demure proper and hide her face behind a fan with a giggle while in public. Of course, once her father was asleep, it was an entirely different story, but appearance was what mattered.

"Try anything? I – it doesn't matter your intentions, it is still inappropriate. Extremely inappropriate."

"People don't think it is now," she said.

"This is insanity," he said in frustration. Oh, how the way of thinking had changed over time. "You really see no problem in our being alone together?"

"We're just going to sleep in the same apartment," she argued, turning a deep shade of red; René was distracted by how lovely the color looked on her cheeks. "I don't see an issue." She took the now-empty plates back to the kitchen. René hoped he hadn't offended her.

"Would you like a shower and a change of clothes?" she asked through the kitchen window.

"A shower?" he asked.

"Uh, it's like a bath."

"No. I bathed three days ago," René said matter-of-factly. He could see her face twist and felt suddenly conscious.

"Okay, in this place, we shower every day. Or at least, most people do. I've known some people that skip a day, but I definitely prefer showering every day." René grimaced. Bathing every day? That was unheard of! However, he really needed to impress this woman. Adjusting to her way of life seemed to be a safe bet. "Besides," she continued. "Your clothes are filthy." René prickled defensively, but he knew that the girl was correct; he had not bothered himself with his appearance in years. "I have some old clothes of Mi – well, I have some clothes that would probably fit you, but you should be clean before you wear them."

Why did she have clothes that could fit him? He pushed that away, deciding he needed to go along with her suggestion.

"Fine," he conceded with a sigh. "If that's what you do here, then I'll … 'shower.'"

"Thank you," she replied, giving him a smile. "Come on, this way." She led him through a bedroom and to a small washroom. There was a tub built into the wall with a metal piece at the top. She turned a knob and water poured from the metal piece. René could hardly contain his shock.

"How is this even possible?"

"We have indoor plumbing," she answered.

"You no longer use wells?" he asked her.

"Some people do," she said with a frown. "But we don't have to draw the water out like people used to. It works differently." Well, this was something that René could get used to, he decided. He had never personally drawn water; his servants had always done it, but he could imagine how awful it had to be. "You really won't tell me anything?" she continued after a bit. René pressed his lips together. "Oh come on!" she said desperately. René hoped that she wouldn't be too angry with him; he gave her an imploring look. She sighed and hung her head, seemingly deciding to leave him alone for now.

She showed him which knob let out hot water and which controlled the cold water; he was astounded at the advancements that had been made. She gave him a towel and left the bathroom to find him clothing while he showered.

René tried to think and relax as the warm water ran over his body. A small part of him wondered if this was all an exhaustion-induced hallucination, but it felt so _real_. Could his desperate mind have imagined this girl in such detail? He wanted so badly for this to be real, for _her_ to be real.

He hung his head in depression. What did it matter if this was real or fantasy? Even in his wildest dreams, he had no chance with her. She was so beautiful, and he was…. His thoughts trailed off as he examined his right arm that was pink with scarring.

She was a tall, proud, graceful rose to be admired and cared for; he was a nasty weed to be trodden upon and pulled up. There would never be anything between them. René steeled himself; if he was going to be here, he could at least enjoy her company. Even if she never felt anything for him, he could be happy just being near her.

He adjusted the knobs back to their starting position and watched in awe as the water flow slowed to a stop. He pulled back the pink curtain and quickly dried himself off with the towel she had provided. She hadn't left him clothes in here, though, so he would have to face her with only a towel for coverage.

He wrapped the towel at the top of his ribcage to cover a large scar that crossed diagonally across his abdomen. He hesitated for a moment, uncomfortable with this situation. Finally, straightening himself, he called to her.

"Excuse me? I'm done."

"Wrap yourself up in the towel so I can bring in clothes." As if she had to warn _him_ to cover up. He slowly pulled the door open and she came inside. Now that more of his skin was exposed, he noticed her gaze everywhere but his eyes.

"Don't stare," he hissed desperately.

"I wasn't," she denied, but her face turned pink and her eyes snapped to the clothes she was carrying. "These are boxers. They're underwear. These are shorts, obviously. I brought a shirt, but you don't have to wear one to bed if you don't want."

Of course he was going to wear a shirt. She left and he began to dress. Whomever these clothes had belonged to must have been shorter than he was; the shirt rose up and displayed some of his ruined stomach. Nervously, he tugged at it as he left the bathroom.

"I'm sorry if they're a bit small," she said with a grimace. "They're all I have."

"These are men's clothing?" She nodded. "To whom do they belong? Why do you have men's clothing?"

"Uh, someone left them here," she answered, tugging on her short black hair. Was that a nervous tic of hers? "Now, can I get you anything else before bed? Water, or anything?"

"No," he answered. She walked back into the bedroom and returned with a blanket and pillow.

"I hope you'll be comfortable on the couch," she said, putting them on the chaise for him. He turned so that she couldn't see how the shirt wouldn't stay down over his stomach. "You're bleeding again," she said.

"I'm fine." He heard her hiss lightly.

"Let me bandage it," she demanded. "You'll bleed on my couch." She disappeared again and returned with medical supplies. "Sit on the couch," she said forcefully.

"I'm fine," René said again. He didn't want to be treated like a child.

"You sit down right now or I'll make you," she said with narrowed eyes and her hands on her hips. René started to argue, but decided that she might mean what she said. He took a seat on the edge of the couch.

She sat next to him and his heart beat nervously. He felt her place a bandage over the wound.

"All done," she declared.

"Thank you," René said sheepishly. She walked towards her room without a word, but stopped suddenly.

"Can I at least know your name?" she asked. He paused. He saw no reason not to divulge his name; in fact, perhaps she would tell him her name as well, and nothing would make him happier than to know her name in return.

"It's René." She didn't immediately offer up her name, so he prompted her anxiously. "Will you not return the favor?"

"I'm A – Belle. I'm Belle." He almost laughed out loud; her name even _meant_ beauty. It was as if fate was taunting him – reminding him of how beautiful she was and how impossible it would be for him to impress her. "I'll leave my door open tonight in case you need anything."

"I would prefer it if you would keep it shut," René said uncomfortably. He still felt as though this arrangement was inappropriate. She sighed and opened her mouth to argue, but René stopped her. "This is all extremely strange to me. I am overwhelmed and quite uncomfortable, but I am trying. It would make me feel a tad better if you would shut the door."

"Okay," she conceded. "If you need anything, though, feel free to come in. Good night."

"Good night, Belle," he said, relishing in the shock of joy he felt from saying her name. "I wish you pleasant dreams."

He leaned against the back of the chaise – or couch, as Belle had called it – when she shut her door behind her.

Had this all been real? A small part of him worried that if he gave into sleep he would wake up back in his own bed in his own time. He wouldn't be able to bear it if this wasn't real – if _she_ wasn't real. He sighed and considered what he should do tomorrow. Maybe he could convince her to let him stay a little longer. Maybe with a little more time, he could ….

_You could what, René?_ he thought bitterly. _Push her away with your disgusting face?_

Maybe it was foolish of him to stay; perhaps it was stupid to hope that he could make her love him.

She was also a much different girl than he had imagined. Unlike women from his time that were quiet and obedient, she was outgoing, defiant, and outspoken – and he wasn't sure it was a bad thing. It was refreshing to have a woman not sit idly by and take orders.

He felt exhilarated now that he had finally met her – Belle, he corrected himself. Now that he was with her, though, he knew he couldn't avoid telling her what had happened to him for long. Would she believe him? What if she threw him out, thinking he was crazy? He fell sideways onto the couch. Anxious thoughts overtook his mind and he tossed and turned until sleep took him.

* * *

René's fitful sleep was broken by a loud rapping noise; his eyes shot open but he lay still, heart hammering. Where was he? His heart soared as he realized that he was in Belle's home, not in his room back in his estate in France. Excitement took him and he leapt up to find the source of the knocking. He spun around the living room before realizing that it was coming from the home's front door.

Panic coursed through his veins, paralyzing him. Someone was at the front door, trying to get in. He could handle Belle's seeing him – barely – but he did not think he could take the curious, repulsed stares of another. He rushed to her door, but Belle did not appear; she must have still been sleeping.

"Mademoi – uh, Belle?" René called to her, tapping lightly on her door. After a moment with no response, René knocked again – louder this time. "Belle! There's someone knocking on your front door!"

"Just a second," he heard her say. He waited impatiently; finally, the bedroom door opened. René's heart stopped when he saw her. He thrust his hands over his eyes and turned his head away. She had on shorts that showed her legs almost to her thighs – the inappropriate sight embarrassed him.

"You're – you're indecent!" he exclaimed.

"I – no, I'm not!" she argued, turning red. She moved towards the door without saying another word, and René rushed into her room. He wasn't sure who was at the door, but he knew that he didn't want to be seen; he could barely stand to have Belle look at him, and that was because – well, because she was _Belle_. Already, he felt she was different.

He could hear Belle and her visitor speaking from the living room; he leaned towards the door to make out their words.

Belle briefly told the person about how she had hit René with her car. He could tell now that the other person was a girl; he heard Belle call her Beth.

"Is he cute? How old is he?"

René frowned; he didn't want to hear Belle's response to that. Of course he wasn't cute!

They chatted for a moment before René could hear a door close. After a few seconds of silence, he risked speaking.

"Is she gone?" he called softly.

"You could have come out, you know," he heard her reply in exasperation. René peered around the corner at her.

"I – I prefer not to be seen," he answered; surely she could see why. "Who was she?" "My friend Bethany. She's the girl in the picture you saw last night." René recalled the photo that was in Belle's kitchen – Beth was the blonde girl he had seen. "I forgot to text her last night and let her know that I was home."

René had promised himself last night that he would not flaunt his ignorance of this world anymore, but the strange word caught his attention and he had formed the question before he could stop himself. "Text?"

"Oh, boy," Belle said with a sigh, plopping herself down on the couch. René opened his mouth to question her further, but he was distracted by the way that her shorts rode up when she sat on the couch. René felt himself turning red; why was she wearing such short trousers?

"Aren't you going to put more clothing on?" he asked, looking at the ground. He heard Belle groan.

"You really are serious about all of this, aren't you? I thought it might have been a charade, but you _really_ don't know much about this place, do you?"

"I half expected to wake up home, in my own bed, and for all of this to have been a dream," he replied, shaking his head. He drew his shoulders in together and lowered his head as he approached her on the other side of the room. He had adopted this stance long ago; it came in handy whenever he was forced to be around some of his servants and wanted to hide himself slightly. He glanced at the couch for a moment, eyeing the spot next to Belle, but couldn't bring himself to sit beside her. How she hadn't already made him leave, repulsed by the sight of him, was a mystery. He lowered himself onto the floor and turned, facing almost entirely away from her.

"Me too," Belle muttered. "Clearly, though, this isn't a dream. Anyway, what are you going to do now? Where do you live? Is there somewhere I can drop you off, or someone I can call …?"

René bit his lip nervously and sat in silence, thinking. To answer her questions, he would have to tell her how he had gotten here. He had nowhere to go because he wasn't even from this century.

"Where are you going to go?" she asked impatiently, interrupting his thoughts. He knew that he would have to explain _something_ to her, but where to begin? He steeled himself to give her an answer.

"I – I have nowhere to go. I told you, I am not from this place." There was a beat before she responded.

"What do you mean you have nowhere to go?" Her voice was sharp.

René did not like it when people questioned him. Before he could reign in his temper, he snapped, "I just don't." His face fell. _Come on, René!_ he thought harshly. He had to control his anger and sharp tongue; this was the girl he was supposed to be charming. "I – I apologize, but I am being truthful. I have nowhere to go. Perhaps – perhaps, we could come to some agreement and I could stay here a little longer."

René had not wanted to ask to stay with her like that, but it had come spilling out of him before he could stop it. There was a long silence; René stole a glance at Belle and saw that she had leaned her head back against the couch with her eyes shut. He waited with baited breath for her to reply. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke.

"I don't know anything about you! Look," she narrowed her eyes at him. "If you want me to even being to _consider_ allowing you to stay here, I want some answers; I want answers _now._" He had assumed she would want him to tell her more about himself, but couldn't she see how hard it was?

"I don't know if you'll believe me," he told her, inclining his head. "You will think me crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy," she said gently; he almost believed her. "Just tell me – tell me what happened to you."

René sighed and cradled his head in his hands. Would she believe his story? His stomach churned nervously for a moment before he gathered his courage and began to answer her.

"As I have said before, I am not from here. I believe, however, that I have spoken incorrectly. I am not from _now_." He stopped, waiting to gauge her reaction.

"What are you talking about?"

_Start with what you know,_ he thought. He would tell her the things he knew to be facts – the things that he knew proved his tale. "My name is René Laurent. I live in France in a large estate with a small household of servants in the year 1746." He heard Belle laugh; he was torn between melting at the sound of her beautiful laughter and annoyance that she was _laughing _at him.

"What do you mean, 1746?" she asked.

"I mean 1746!" he almost shouted, his eyes flashing. "I told you that you would think me insane."

"I'll play along," she said quickly. "How did you get here?"

Well, at least she had not thrown him out as soon as he began his tale; she was giving him the opportunity to finish explaining.

"Well, I …" René was distracted by the bright purple rug beneath him; it seemed an odd color for a rug. "Many years ago, I was given an enchanted mirror." He hadn't intended to stop there, but she interrupted.

"An enchanted _mirror_?" He stole another glance at her, a desperate plea in his eyes. She had to give him a chance to speak. She blushed sheepishly. "I apologize. Please, continue."

As he began his story, his eyes glued to the floor, he felt a rush of relief. It was so nice to finally talk about what had happened to him; it made it seem a bit more real.

René let out a small breath when he had told her his side of the story. He wanted to turn and see her expression, to weigh her reaction, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

"If you are from 18th century France, why do you speak English?" He smiled lightly at her question; a question was better than most other alternatives. She was no longer laughing at him, after all.

He spouted off the truth about his father's diplomatic status; he considered answering her in French but felt that she might not appreciate his facetiousness right now. This time, he did steal a glance at her; she was tugging on her hair – her boyish hair – but her face was set. She was considering his story! René's heart soared.

"Let's assume that I believe you," she began. "Why would the mirror bring you here?"

This had been the _one_ question that René had not wanted to hear. The mirror had brought him not to _here_ but to _her_; he couldn't tell Belle that, though. It was, firstly, too embarrassing; he also did not think that Belle would enjoy being, quite frankly, stalked. He flushed, thinking of how to word his answer.

"I believe that there is something here that I need – something that will help me."

"So you _wanted_ to come here?" That was an odd question.

"I don't know," René answered honestly. He _did_ want to be with Belle, but he wasn't sure if this was the way he wanted to do it. This time was strange, new, and confusing. "But I'm here, nonetheless."

"Where is this mirror?"

A glimmer of hope flashed before René's eyes. The mirror! Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He could show her the mirror, which would prove – better than his words could – that what he was saying was true.

"Where are my clothes from last night?" he asked immediately, barely able to contain his excitement. She would have to believe him when she saw the mirror!

"In the bathroom," Belle answered. René leapt up and followed her through her bedroom and into the bathroom. "You said it – it _shows_ you people?" René nodded, trying not to smile with uncontained glee. "Can you prove it to me?"

"Of course," he said, reaching into his trouser pocket and producing a small hand mirror. Hands shaking slightly, he handed it to Belle; he heard her gasp quietly.

She examined the mirror for a moment before turning her gaze to him; René couldn't help but notice that she did not grimace or look away quickly when she saw his face.

"I just ask it to show me someone?" she asked breathlessly. René nodded, watching her with care; his shyness had left him for now; excitement overwhelmed whatever other emotions he might feel. She was about to know that he had been telling the truth! "Show me – Bethany. Please."

René saw the familiar flash of light and, though he could not see the mirror's surface from here, he knew that the blonde girl from the photo must be shining up at Belle.

Belle jumped backward and let out a small shout; the mirror fell through her fingers and to the floor where it shattered.

"Oh my God!" she shouted; she was on the ground before he could stop her. "I'm so sorry, I just – well, that really shocked me. I can't believe it actually worked, I'm so sorry!" René was not concerned by the broken mirror; he had seen the mirror break dozens of times. In fact, he himself had broken it on more than half of those occasions. Belle, however, was beside herself. "Do you think we can –" She stopped, as René had known she would. Now was time for the mirror to put itself back together; René had to contain his glee. This would prove his point even more than just seeing someone in the mirror would. Now there would be no question, no doubt that he was from a much different place and that his mirror was full of magic.

He watched happily as the pieces zoomed to their original places; even the dust from the broken glass put itself back together. Belle's eyes were wide, her face covered in shock. When the mirror was whole again, René couldn't help but gloat slightly.

"Do you believe me now?"


End file.
